On The Contrary
by PerfectionJune
Summary: Becca Potter is not the Girl-Who-Lived. Neither is her best mate, Neville Longbottom. Why? Voldy never heard the prophecy. Lily Potter was tortured into insanity, and James Potter is the Minister of Magic and a neglectful father. Watch as Becca grows up under Dumbledore's ever-watching eye as she tries to find her place in the world.
1. Prologue

**AN: The first part will talk about some things in past tense, the rest in present. Yay! This is a world where Voldemort was never defeated because Snape had the prophecy obliviated from his head. Because Voldemort never knew of the prophecy, he never wanted Peter for a spy, and Peter never betrayed the Potters. The Potters also showed more trust in Peter than they did in Cannon timeline, meaning that he never felt the need to betray Lily and James. Snape will be a teacher, however, because Voldemort wanted a spy in Dumbledore's ranks, and Snape was ordered to fake hatred of Voldemort. Where Severus's true loyalties lie have yet to be discovered, but in this story he is successful in convincing Dumbledore because the Potter house ****_was_**** attacked at a random point in time, and Lily Potter was tortured into insanity. Since the prophecy never came to pass, Becca will still be watched by Dumbledore, but Neville will be too. Ok, enjoy.**

**On The Contrary**

**Prologue**

**Never Gonna Care**

Everyone knew me. Daughter of James Potter, Minister of Magic, and Lily Potter, victim of the cruciatus at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange. Everyone knew me, because everyone knew my father, the Leader against Voldemort's forces. He whipped the ministry into shape, and the Light is now winning. Everyone knew of me, but no one had ever seen me. It was said that my father was so filled with grief for his wife, that I became invisible to him. It was said that I was being hidden away out of some fear of Death Eaters attacking me. It was said I was everything from camera-shy to abused. No one guessed the truth.

They were right. My Father didn't care. However, they were wrong as well. He wouldn't have cared if I was on camera or not. And in fact, I went out in public constantly. No, the reason I was never in the newspapers is that I didn't look like anyone expected me to.

Rebecca Hazel Potter…my middle name is of the plant, following my mother's family's tradition, and I was 10 years old. I had my ears pierced. With two holes in each ear (one for a hoop, one for a stud). I dressed in muggle clothes, generally flowery shirts over Army or cargo pants. I wore black sweaters that glittered slightly, along with polar fleeces. My eyes are bright green like my mother's, and my hair is chestnut like my grandfather's, but since I was born with black hair, no one was aware that my hair had lightened over the years. People saw what they wished to see. And they didn't see the girl who liked to climb trees and wear muggle clothes, the girl who wore pants rather than robes and dresses, the girl who still wore makeup on the odd day, who loved astronomy, runes, and history, and despised reading about transfiguration (mainly because my father wrote so many of the books) as the treasure child, the sweetheart, the girl they were expecting, Rebecca Potter. I was normal, and normal girls don't have ministers of magic for fathers.

Not that I cared.

And I didn't! Not really. Sure, occasionally I felt this ache in my chest when people would wonder about Rebecca Potter right in front of me, or when my father showed up in conversations. I didn't care that I'd wake up at midnight, unable to sleep, because I knew that my father was drowning his sorrows in firewhisky and his latest squeeze. That was my mantra. I. Didn't. Care. And I swore I never would.

**Please Review!**


	2. Chapter 1: The Letter That Didn't Matter

**Disclaimer: I was craving chocolate fondue b/c occasionally people just do that. It occurred to me that if I was Jo, and owned HP, I could eat all the fondue I want. I guess I'm not the owner of HP, despite the fact I long to be.**

**On The Contrary**

**Chapter 1**

**The Letter That Just Didn't Matter**

For as long as I can remember, my father has been a playboy. He is handsome, rich, and the Minister of Magic. Perfect Playboy material. By the time I was 8, somebody had to give me the talk, because I just wouldn't stop asking why my "daddy" was bringing women home.

James didn't even give me the talk, Sirius did. And Remus sat there and coughed when Sirius was getting too close to uncomfortable topics. Peter was there as well. Peter is my favorite uncle.

Peter never compares me to James, or my mother. Peter seems to understand that, as I wasn't raised by either of them, I have nothing in common with them. Peter never makes crude comments about other people, or tells me what is expected of me in life, or laughs when I say I want to be a historian. In fact, Peter encouraged me, and inspired me to play an instrument. I play the trumpet because Peter once played Jazz for me, and I fell in love. And, of course, Peter is my Godfather.

Many people were shocked when _Peter Pettigrew _was chosen instead of Sirius Black, but that was because Sirius was too reckless, and my mother feared that he would put vengeance before me should either she or James die.

She was right.

After Bellatrix Lestrange, her husband, his brother, and Barty Crouch Jr. attacked and tortured Mum into insanity, Sirius hunted down his cousin and arrested her before he even thought to check on the surviving family members.

James is hardly ever around, and yet whenever he is, he insists on making sure we have "family meals." These include myself, my father, and my grandfather, all sitting down at the table and eating in awkward silence. Grandfather is a kind man who, along with Peter, raised me. Of course, father doesn't realize or care that I didn't raise myself. He just is absorbed in work, and can barely come up for food, sleep, and sex.

Some of you may call James unfaithful to Mum since she's still alive, but she's insane, and insane people make all marriage contracts null and void. As far as the Wizarding world is concerned, Mum is dead.

Of course, there is a cure. There has to be. That's part of why I'm fascinated by history. Someone, somewhere must have cured someone of something similar. I don't, however, want to be a healer. I want to cure my Mum and then I want to go on expeditions around the world and be an archeologist. And then I'll write books. Lots and lots of books. I'll be more famous than Gilderoy Lockhart and more knowledgeable too.

Anyway, it is during one of these "Family Breakfasts" that I receive my Hogwarts letter (After thanking the house elf who gave it to me appropriately). I open it up and read the information inside. I ignore the opening letter as I already know what it says, (vaguely) and I simply read through what I will need for the year. I then lift my head to meet James and Grandfather's enquiring gazes.

"I'm in." I say curtly. They stare at me for a few minutes. "What?" I finally ask.

"Aren't you…well…excited?" Asks James haltingly. Of course it was haltingly. He never speaks to me and barely knows me. He doesn't know if my behavior is normal.

"Yes James-"

"-Father"

"Father. I am excited. I am going to go over to Neville's and share in this good news as it is the July Birthday delivery date and he should have received his as well. Good day." I stand stiffly, lean over, kiss my Grandfather on the cheek, and walk away. The last thing I hear is my father asking my Grandfather,

"Neville…..Longbottom?"

I rolled my eyes. Of course he doesn't know the name of my best friend. That would be stupid to expect.

My best friend Neville Longbottom's parents, Alice and Frank, both invite me over constantly to try and give me a semblance of home. They truly are amazing parents. They've managed to give the world someone as awesome as Neville and his little sister Emma after all.

A word on Neville before you meet him. He is, quite frankly, one of the nicest people I have ever met. He is funny and quirky. He doesn't mind listening to my muggle protest songs if I watch muggle movies with him. He used to be a little shy, but since his Grandmother was banned from the house for lowering his self-confidence, Neville has become perfectly comfortable with putting himself on the line. He's a genius at Herbology, mainly because he wanted to know what muggles found so great about gardening (remember, movie nut. Muggles always seem to garden at least once in those things) and found he was good at it. He is taller than me by about an inch, he is fairly thin, although his face still is boyishly round, and he has brown hair and dark blue eyes.

I guess you could say Neville is the calm before the storm. He is serene, and kind, and an all-around nice guy (except for when you get him _really_ angry) while I am the storm, wild, unpredictable…Neville and I are a package deal, and for those who know who both of us are and that we are friends, you barely think "Becca" without thinking "Neville" and vise-versa.

His little sister Emma has made me an example of how _not_ to act…or rather, she has decided to use me as an example of how a proper young lady is not supposed to act. On a day-to-day basis, she is herself (with a little of her behavior emulating me). The times when she has to "behave appropriately" she uses me as her example of how not to behave. The little girl is truly awesome, and has an amazing personality. She is one of my favorite people on this earth.

Anyway, after I call out "Longbottom Manor", I am pulled into the spinning fireplace system. As strange as it sounds, I love flooing. I love the rush and the spinning. It's like a roller coaster ride (Neville and I have been to the Muggle world on occasion). However, I suck at exiting the floo. I always am pushed out of the floo, like the system can't wait to get me out. I always manage to land on my butt, as is proven here. My arrival to Longbottom Manor is punctuated by a loud "thump" and an expletive. I hear the pounding of feet running, and I am tackled by a flying seven year old.

It is of course Emma Longbottom. She is, in one word, adorable. She has long brown hair which may very well be blonde by the time she gets to Hogwarts as her hair just keeps getting lighter. Her dark brown eyes sparkle almost constantly. She also has an infectious grin, one she is wearing now.

"You'll never guess what I did!" She exclaims, showing me her missing front tooth.

"What did you do M&amp;Ms?" I ask, grinning at her when she makes a face at the nickname. Emma used to be called Ems by everyone. One day, Neville brought home M&amp;Ms, and she ate them all before anyone could stop her. She became M&amp;Ms fairly quickly after that.

"I turned the oranges in the bowl green. And then I turned them blue because blue is a prettier color."

I have to admit, I'm proud of her for her accidental magic. But green and blue oranges? That's just…wrong. On so many levels.

"So you made oranges the color of mold." I find myself saying, a complete deadpan.

"No! You just say that 'cause you like orange best." She says pouting.

I grin and ruffle her hair, making her squeal. "Okay M&amp;Ms. Good job making me want to avoid the oranges like the plague."

"I turned them back."

"I'll take the risk _just this once_."

"Good."

I put the little girl down, and she clings to my arm. She looks up at me and says in a serious voice "Did you know Neville got his Hogwarts letter today? I started singing muggle songs."

"Really?" I say smirking. I know that Neville has just entered the room behind me, and I want to have something to tease him with.

"Uh-huh. I was an American song, a really bad one."

"An awful American song? Well, I know what it is then!"

"What?"

"This is how we do it, Montell Jordan." I say, grinning when I hear an indignant exclamation of "What?!"

I turn and look at Neville. "Hello Nevvie-poo! How are you doing?"

He scowls at me and says "1st of all, don't call me that. 2nd of all, that is a brilliant song for all that it's American. And 3rd of all, just the fact you knew what song it is makes you just as much of a nerd as I am, removing any right you have to tease me!"

"So…well then? Brilliant, so am I. James didn't know you are my best friend, but hey, I got my Hogwarts letter!"

Neville frowns at me, and his eyes hold something akin to pity for a moment before it vanishes.

"Becca, it's fine, I forget your dad's name on occasion as well. We're even. Besides, we have more pressing matters to consider."

I start to grin again. "What would that be?"

"Convince Mum and Dad to take us to Diagon, and to leave the small fry at home. She's already gone to try and convince mum and dad to bring her. We must fight back!"

Looking down, I realize he's right. Emma's gone. Which means, "Mission accepted!"

Nev and I laugh as we run through the hall of Longbottom Mansion to the kitchen to convince his parents that we can't wait another day to go to Hogwarts.

**Reviews make me spew Rainbows (meaning my writing actually improves!) Read and review!**


	3. Chapter 2: The Dissapointing Snobs

**AN: Yay I'm back. PLEASE READ THE MESSAGE AT THE BOTTOM! And thank you mythlover92 for your review.**

**Disclaimer: I love Jo to death. And I love her Universe to death. But really. I am ****_not_**** a middle aged woman people. And I'm American! I guess I'm trying to say I am both younger, and from a completely different continent. I don't own HP, though if I thought moving to England would do it, I'd be there in an instant.**

"_The term "Pure-Blood" was first coined in 1362, by Keid Black. Before this time, the term used for Pure-Bloods was simply "Trulies". Believing this name to be lacking in dignity, Black came up with a term he believed showed the hierarchy in the wizarding world. While the New-Trues and Half-Trues (as they were called then) attempted to hang on to trulies-as the new term was even more insulting-the overwhelming response from the newly named Pure-Bloods made this fad a lasting term."_

_-From __**"Purebloods, a History"**_

Being thrown from the floo, into another person is not fun. It is even less fun when said person is a snob.

In the Wizarding World, to most people there are two main factions. The Dark Faction-many of Pure-Bloods-, and the rest with the Muggle-Borns in the Light Faction. Half-Bloods, while more bearable to each side than the other, are still caught in the middle. Most of us are on the side of the Light, but a surprisingly large amount joined forces with Voldemort. No matter where we go, no matter which side we are interacting with, we are always treated with polite suspicion. Sometimes I think that the Muggle-Borns and Pure-Bloods have it better. At least they (no matter which side of the divide they are on) have at least one group of people who trust them completely.

On top of the Half-Bloods being suspicious, the Pure-Bloods aren't split down the middle, although no one will admit it. I suppose people believe it will bring moral down, but everyone knows that there are more dark purebloods than light.

On one side of this hierarchy are the Potters. On the other side, the Malfoys. The Potters are the most influential out of the two, mainly due to the fact we don't invest in psychotic dark lords and keeping ourselves out of prison.

There has never been enough conclusive evidence on Lucius Malfoy being a Death Eater. Of course his gold contributed to keeping several mouths shut, and to force those in charge to look the other way, but he also has a failsafe defense. He doesn't have the Dark Mark.

In previous governments, finding a dark mark simply meant that the person had been branded. It didn't mean that they weren't _imperioused_ to work for Voldy. But when James came into power, he wasn't planning on letting people bollocks their way through these trials. But soon, the Death Marks began to disappear. One by one, slowly and steadily, until we couldn't tell if a person had ever carried a Dark Mark.

Some people thought it meant Voldy was vanquished…at least until the next attack occurred. No, good old Flight from Death decided that he needed to protect his followers so that they'd still be of _some_ use to him. Of course, I don't think the bloody bastards, or rather, "upstanding members of society" would be worth saving. But, hey, Voldemort always was a bit batty. Anyway, back to the Snob.

I had just been thrown from the fire place, when I tripped over someone's foot into a boy's back. After dusting myself off, I found myself saying "Sorry, mate. Some people need to watch their feet." Before looking down at the boy I knocked over and offering my hand. That's when I got my first full view of him, leading to where I am now.

Draco Malfoy is, perhaps, the shortest 11 year-old boy I have ever seen. Considering the height of his Mother and Father, however, I suppose he will grow out of it. His platinum blonde hair is gelled back, making his chin look pointed, and slightly weak. His eyes are a cool gray, like most pureblood's, but instead of being filled with the polite irritation I usually expect from an heir, his eyes are filled with fire, like he's about to start hurling insults at me.

He restrains himself, once he dusts his acromantula silk robes off, after looking disdainfully at my hand.

"And who, might I ask, would you be?" he asks coolly.

"Rebecca." I reply shortly, not intending to reveal my last name, especially considering that we attract quite a bit of attention when Lucius Malfoy begins to walk towards Draco and I.

Luckily, Malfoy Sr. stops just behind Draco, and gestures for him to continue. Almost like he's testing his son. Draco hesitates before saying, "With your choice of clothing, I don't suppose I should be surprised by your plebian manors. I mean, what is your family name?"

Crap. Backed into a corner. I feel Neville come up behind me.

"Malfoy." He nods his head in greeting. "What is your issue with my best friend?" he says the last part tiredly. Shite. Neville only uses that voice when he _really_ doesn't like someone.

"Longbottom." Draco-Malfoy, rather- replies, coolly, yet politely. "I was simply interested in the identity of the person who ran into me. Is she under your protection?"

I barely hold in a gasp, and I see several other patrons looking at our little group in shock. Each pureblood family has the ability to offer protection to one Muggle-Born per generation, and they are practically adopted into the family. It's a very serious decision, one that isn't often made before Hogwarts.

Neville, however, doesn't waver for a second. "No, she does not need it. She comes from a Pure-Blood family." I watch with sight satisfaction as both Malfoy Sr. and Jr.'s eyebrows rise infinitesimally at that statement. Clearly the thought never crossed their minds that I could be anything other than Muggle-Born.

"Oh?" replies Malfoy, slightly shaken. "And which one might that be?" I can see in his eyes he thinks he's pulled Neville's bluff. Neville looks at me, as if asking for my permission to reveal my name. And I know I'll never receive any respect if I do not stand for myself now. So I give Neville a slight shake of my head, and turn to Malfoy.

"I apologize, heir Malfoy, for my former lack of manners. My name is Rebecca Potter, of the most Ancient and Noble house of Potter. I shall also apologize for any injury I may have caused you due to my lack of grace exiting the floo." I say this with as straight a face as possible, and with my best posture, as I begin to cross-reference the English dictionary with _How to speak Snob_, as I like to call pureblood speech.

Malfoys mouth drops open, he's no longer even trying to hide his surprise. I focus on him, even as Neville flashes me a startled look (he's never seen me speak this way before), the people who are listening mutter, and a camera flashes. I stand there, calmly and perfectly poised. My hair is in a simple braid, nothing fancy. I'm wearing jeans and a green t-shirt. But quite frankly, I feel regal. I feel strong, and powerful, like no one can stop me. And I know I need to leave soon or the feeling will overwhelm me.

Magic must see my need, because at that moment, she answers my unspoken plea for help. Alice and Frank walk out of the Floo. And immediately see Neville and me, facing off with Malfoy. I track their progress towards us out of the corner of my eye. I cannot relax my posture, even when they stand by me. I must extract an apology from Malfoy or the honor of the House of Potter will never be satisfied. And I may hate my father, but I do not hate my family.

Malfoy recovers from his shock. "I see. I apologize, heiress Potter, for the slight on your person." And that's what it was. By indicating I might be Muggle-Born, he insulted the blood of the House of Potter. And while I may not care about the particulars of the insult, or care that he supposedly insulted me, I do care that he did inadvertently insult my family.

"It was a misunderstanding heir Malfoy. No such misunderstanding shall take place again, I trust?" I am making them crawl and beg. I am making them writhe. I am, although politely, showing how much _better_ I am than Malfoy. I am cold, I am untouchable, I am powerful.

"It shall not happen again heiress Potter. Such as I hope that no one will have any cause to challenge your grace again." Ouch. He's good. But I'm better.

"Why of course not! Such as no one will ever be able to question that when we make it to Hogwarts, you will be the very beacon of all the Ministry stands for!"

I can see the confusion in his eyes. He does not understand what I am implying. "Why is that, heiress Potter?" Time to spell it out for him.

"Why, with your family so embroiled in the politics of my father's government," here I revel in seeing a flash of anger in both the Malfoy's eyes. It is well known that my father is the only thing stopping them from buying the entire Ministry's pockets. "I am certain that we will be able to count on you to strengthen the country during this time where terrorism is so…common." There, I have done it. He must either back down by agreeing with me, or let speculation run rampant. I can see by the look of defeat in his eyes that he knows he has lost. I am sure Draco Malfoy ill not be allowed out of the house without his father covering several more of the etiquette policies. Malfoy won't be allowed out until Hogwarts or until he can satisfy his father. So until Hogwarts.

"Of course. It is all our duties to help the community through such a troubling time. We must," and here he almost seems to choke on the words, "_Thank_ your father for his fine work in protecting the citizens of Magical Britain." He bows stiffly, and I nod. I have won. He turns and walks away, his father following him. I turn around to face the Longbottoms, all of whom are staring at me in shock. All four of us turn to leave.

BHPBHPBHPBHPBHPBHPBHPBHP

When we make it outside I throw up. I am so filled with adrenaline that it all needs to go _somewhere_. During the Pureblood pissing contest I felt powerful. My magic rose to the surface, ready to be used. Ready to shine. I felt alive.

Generally, I stick to my books, denying the fact I am who I am. However, when I said my name…I felt like a part of me was desperate to join with the rest of me. Hence why I am throwing up. It was disconcerting.

After I start to calm down, I become aware of a hand on my shoulder. Frank's hand. I next become aware of Alice rubbing my back. I begin to calm down. After wiping my mouth (and letting Alice clean it) I look up to see Neville staring at me in shock.

"What?" I ask irritably. "Never seen me throw up before?" Because of course he has, we have been best friends since infanthood. Not seeing me throw up would have been impossible, just like I've seen him naked plenty of times and him I. Though not in recent years, of course.

"No." he says quite simply and doesn't elaborate.

"Then what?"

Neville looks at me, and there's something in his eyes I can't understand. "I've never felt you as clearly as I just did." And suddenly I understand.

**(AN: Don't hate me for this, but I feel that a pov switch is the best way to explain this.)**

**Neville POV**

I have slight empathetic abilities. I can get reading on anyone, but my readings are very vague unless I knows the person well. Becca has always been easier for me to read than anyone else, even my family. But Becca is also the hardest person to read according to the basic rules of empathy.

All people have a base…I guess you could call it a hum. Their emotions hum and tingle and throb, and that's how I sense them. Every person has a base feeling, and all their emotions change, but the base feeling stays the same. Becca's base feeling is always changing.

Not completely, mind you. Her base feeling is always a rather…I guess you could say… hard hum, as if it's trying to make sure you feel the vibrations. But it changes slightly. It can be slow, fast, languid, or like particles heating up. But when she confronted Malfoy…oh magic.

Her hum changed slightly. I began to vibrate slightly faster than usual, and her humming became a thrum that shook me slightly. Any empath within a mile could have felt her. Becca literally shone. Becca was filled with cold, smooth, power. Like a Slytherin snake, yet somehow different. She wasn't cruel, she was simply…better. Becca found herself in that moment…and the only way she'll ever be complete is if she finds that part of her again.

BHPBHPBHPBHPBHP

**AN: Okay everybody! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Merry Christmas! I update every Thursday, but couldn't last week due to finals. Since Tomorrow is Christmas, I'm posting a day early. I hope none of you hate me for my impromptu POV switch. I very rarely do them, but they will pop up on occasion.**

**So, who likes my idea for empathy? I've always found the description of how empaths sense emotions to be silly. I think that it is all based on pure feeling, but imagine how those poor empaths would feel if they were constantly having the emotions of others pressing down on them. It's more evolutionarily sound to have empath sensing toned down.**

**I'd like to thank mythlover92 for their review, my only! To answer some of their questions:**

**In regards to the story being broken up into separate years:**

**I honestly don't know. Whatever is most convenient.**

**On the subject of Becca and Neville's relationship:**

**I can see them falling in love, and originally that was my plan. But then I thought of all the awesome yet underrated Cannon Characters Becca and Neville could be with! And so, for no my answer is: we'll wait and see.**

**Of course, Mythlover92 received answers in more detail in the private message I sent in return. Please read and review, and I will try to answer any questions you may have so long as they aren't explained in already written chapters.**

**So, read and review, and I'll see you next Thursday!**

**Signing off,**

**-PerfectionJune**


	4. Chapter 3: Wands and the Spice of Life

_In 990 A.D., the first school in Magical Britain for Witchcraft and Wizardry was built. Many would be surprised to know that originally, everything taught was wandless magic. The first wand was created in 640 A.D. (see tale of three brothers), but wands were only used by wizards who were considered bloodthirsty and murderous. Those of respectable origins used wandless magic until around 1035 A.D. The switch was decided on because Adrian Slytherin (Slytherin's Grandson) discovered that there was more control over the spells you cast. Wands were incredibly popular from then on, even after Adrian fell to the dark arts in later years (see Founders Politics __**(See ShiningAnime's Looking Beyond)**__) and are still popular today._

_-A Study in Wandlore_

Diagon Alley is beautiful. Don't ever let anyone tell you it's not. Ollivander's is creepy. Don't ever let anyone tell you it's not.

Of course, the day was already off to an awful start, as that power rush was messing with my head. I may usually have unpredictable emotions, but this was different. My thoughts were out of order. And every time I blinked, I saw my fath-James-talking to the Wizengamot. Being the eloquent bastard that he is. And…I don't want to be like him.

After the Longbottoms and I left the Leaky Cauldron and entered Diagon, we headed towards Flourish and Blotts (as we already had our money). I think Alice hoped that if we went there first, she'd stop me from begging.

I grabbed my necessary supplies, and then grabbed all the interesting books I could find. I found one book that I think I'll adore, which was called **_Mythologies and their Influence on Ancient Runes: _**_A study of the field_. Quite frankly, Frank and Neville both lifted me up by my arms and lifted me out of the store, Alice laughing on the sidelines.

I was furious, but figured that we probably did need to get a move on. We then went to Tatem and Tate's, as the Longbottom family and Madam Malkin's father didn't get along. The store, while less successful than Madam Malkin's, was still of fine quality. I actually enjoyed shopping there more. The sales attendants weren't as pushy, and they sold muggle clothes and casual robes on the side. Not to mention, the store was a rather fetching yellow color, with accents of orange, making the store look like a sunset.

By the time we were done getting our robes fitted (Nev and I had grown AGAIN), it was nearly Noon. We stopped to get some lunch at "Nixon and Nellie's" a bakery which sold the best bread in the world. (I have a fetish for bread).

Nev and I hit our various stores. The apothecary was his favorite (It's just so fascinating how the ingredients are preserved) and it was his turn to be dragged out (This time by Alice and I). "Gilligan's Galaxy" (where we got our telescopes) had a ceiling which depict the night sky. Every so often, a comet would zoom past. I can't imagine being shocked by the Great Hall ceiling after that.

Once all we had left were our wands, Nev decided he needed a familiar. I was unsure about how Peter would react to a cat (The animal I wanted) so I was planning on refraining from looking for one.

We walked into the store, and Neville began looking at toads. Don't ask me why, but the boy wanted a toad. He was looking at various poison frogs and moving to the toad section when I felt something brush up against me. I looked down into the most adorable face I have ever seen.

The cat must have been at least half kneazle, as the particular shade of gold his eyes were is not natural in normal cats. His face was mashed in, yes, and his tail and ears had taken a beating, but his fur was thick and beautiful. His eyes shone with intelligence and fierceness. And I knew I had to bring this cat home with me.

"This is odd," I said amused. "Most animals can tell when a person isn't looking for a familiar. You're stubborn aren't you?"

The cat sent me a look that seemed to say "And don't you forget it!" And I grinned. I held open my arms in greeting, and he bounded into my arms and curled up in them. I walked over to the counter, where Neville had found a toad. An odd toad it was too. Rather than having four legs (two on each side) it had six (three on each side). And he was calling it Trevor, for the irony of giving such and odd creature an unremarkable name.

I walked past him, grinning as he attempted to pull Trevor off his shoulder. I plopped my cat down (as he was my cat) on the counter, and said "I'd like to buy this cat."

BHPBHPBHPBHPBHPBHPBHPBHP

After being told how remarkable it was the Crookshanks (as he is apparently called) chose me, I bought my new familiar, and left the shop after Neville. We then began walking to Ollivander's.

Most kids are excited as the head off to get their wands. I was filled with dread. Getting a wand was an activity for the family. And while I was welcome to buy with the Longbottoms, I couldn't help but wish Mum, or Peter, or...maybe even James, could be there with me. Which is why when I saw Peter, I gave a shriek and went to hug him.

Peter had been gone for the past month. He works for the Daily Prophet, and so he was writing a story on how two Wizards in North and South Korea almost started world war three for the muggles completely on accident. I hadn't expected him back for another week, and although we had been owling, it just wasn't the same.

Peter laughed at me and hugged me as tightly as I'm sure I was him. When we finally broke apart, I couldn't help the words tumbling out of my mouth. "Peter! What are you doing here? You weren't supposed to be back for another week! Are you ok? Sick? Feverish? Not that I'm not happy to have you here, because I am, but seriously." Peter finally snorted and stopped me with a finger.

"Well," he said grinning, "I couldn't let my favorite Goddaughter buy her first wand all on her lonesome, now could I?"

I shook my head at him, and he grinned at me offering me his arm, and leading the way into the shop.

BHPBHPBHPBHPBHPBHPBHPBHP

Which leads me to where I am now. Inside Ollivander's (a truly creepy place).

It's not Ollivander's is bad, per say. I don't feel like it is evil. It's more like there's a constant prickling on the back of my neck. The hairs on my arms stand up and goosebumps break out over my skin, but not from the cold. And there's an odd…whisper in the air, like all the magic is under so much pressure that at any point (like a soda bottle) the whole thing will explode. It doesn't, however feel volatile.

I see Neville look at me in confusion. More likely that not he can't feel what I'm feeling. I shiver slightly and lean into Peter.

"What's wrong?" he whispers.

"The store…it feels like it is watching me. There's another presence." I shiver again.

"Indeed." Says a voice behind me, and I can't even jump, because I almost…_knew_ he was there. "Indeed Ms. Potter. It seems you have gotten your mother's sensitivity to magic."

And despite the fact that the old guy with the wispy hair and luminous eyes creeps me out, I can't stop the sudden warmth that rushes through me at the idea that I have something in common with my _Mum_. Who I'm positive was perfect.

"Now," he says, smiling slightly. "We must start with the oldest. Mr. Neville Longbottom, son of Alice and Frank Longbottom, whose wands you, of course, already know. What will your perfect match be?"

And he smiles at Nev in a slightly creepy way.

"Mr. Longbottom…you are one of the easiest to place in a long time. There is a wand calling to you. It has already claimed you for its own, without you even touching it. Can you feel the connection Ms. Potter?"

I feel odd for a moment. Feel it? How?

"All you have to do, is focus your sense for magic on young Neville here." Ollivander says. And I'm still confused, until it occurs to me. It must be similar to Nev's empathy abilities. He is bombarded with other people's frequencies, ike I am bombarded with the magic of the store. He can focus on one person at a time, I can focus on one strand of magic at a time! I close my eyes, and I…_feel_. I reach out a hand, and I touch something…sticky, I guess you could say. It's like invisible residue is on my hand. I follow the residue mentally, now that I know what it feels like. It's almost like I'm seeing, but not really. And suddenly, I see it. A perfectly beautiful wand, which has the same residue lingering on Nev. I open my eyes.

"5 rows back, 3 bookcase on the left." I say confidently.

Ollivander smiles his mysterious little smile, and I feel panic for a moment. Am I wrong?

And then he grabs the box I suggested, and brings out the wand I felt. He hands it to Nev, and when he grasps it, the room is filled with warmth. There almost seems to be a sigh of "at last."

Nev smiles and says "I feel…warm."

"Yes, yes." Says Ollivander. "That is a side effect of bonding. It will fade soon. That will be…5 galleons, for a 10 ¾ inches, rigid, Cedar and Unicorn!"

Neville smiles, and Frank counted out the coins and handed them over. Then the trio back away to lean against the wall as Ollivander's gaze turns to me.

"Miss Potter. You are rather elusive aren't you? No one has ever gotten a picture, and I get to sell you a wand! How thrilling!" I find Ollivander's excitement kind of creepy, I must admit, and I'm rather curious how bent he is.

"Now…what it the perfect wand for you? You are not nearly as easy as Mr. Longbottom…not nearly so easy…" And then he whips out a silver measuring tape and begins to measure me. I squint down at the tape and realize I'm being measured for wand length and flexibility on one side, and wand wood and core on the other. A rather curious device really.

I watch as it slides slightly and I see _12 ¼_ before the measuring tape moves again. The next thing I see is "Eld" before the measuring tape slips. Eld? The only wood I can think of that fits would be…Elder. The cursed wand wood…the wand wood of death and murder and misery. The wood of the unloyal wand. And suddenly, I'm scared.

"There we go!" Ollivander suddenly exclaims. He smiles slightly. "The combination of this core and wand is unusual as it often make for stand-offish wands, but it should work for you perfectly." And he hands me a wand.

Now, I think that this wand is the most beautiful wand I have ever seen. It is a pale color, with veins of pink, red, and brown in the grain. It cut like a standard wand, but it has a slight leaf pattern carved into the wand at the base. The wood seems to breathe health, life, and vitality. It's almost seductive, which scares me a bit. I reach out hesitantly ad take the wand.

And Oh My Magic! I feel fire racing through my veins, burning, but somehow worm and healing. And when I open my eyes, the small potted plant in the corner has grown immensely. My wand breathes life.

"Yes! Yes!" Ollivander is doing an odd little jig. "That is 12 ¼ inches, swishy, with Elder wood and Phoenix feather. A total of 9 galleons for the difficulty of collecting the materials. You have wand that is simply perfect for healing!"

I stand there in shock as Peter pays. I follow Neville in a daze. A wand perfect for healing? Is this some type of sick joke? I hate people…people hate me! I'd be an awful healer! And I'd fail at saving my mother if _I_ were the healer. She'd need the best of the best…and that's not me. I hate that my wand is for healing. But at the same time, I can't hate my wand, because I love it with all my heart.

**Bet none of you saw her familiar coming! So many people insist that Crookshanks and Hermione belong together, but I feel that Becca and 'Shanks would hit it off fabulously! Also, let me know if you think her sensitivity to magic is ridiculous. She isn't some freaky-powered person…it's more like when someone casts a spell on her, her brain screams "Move!" or when she's surrounded by magic she can feel it. Similar to how when we are surrounded by water, we are wet. I guess you could say both she and Neville have sixth senses.**

**Becca's Wand:**

**Wandlength: 12 ¼ inches.**

**Wood: Elder**

**Core: Phoenix**

**Flexibility: Swishy**

**On Wood Length:**

**Supposedly, wood length generally shows nothing in particular about the user, except in a few cases (see Pottermore)**

**On Elder Wood:**

**"****The rarest wand wood of all, and reputed to be deeply unlucky, the elder wand is trickier to master than any other. It contains powerful magic, but scorns to remain with any owner who is not the superior of his or her company; it takes a remarkable wizard to keep the elder wand for any length of time. The old superstition, 'wand of elder, never prosper,' has its basis in this fear of the wand, but in fact, the superstition is baseless, and those foolish wandmakers who refuse to work with elder do so more because they doubt they will be able to sell their products than from fear of working with this wood. The truth is that only a highly unusual person will find their perfect match in elder, and on the rare occasion when such a pairing occurs, I take it as certain that the witch or wizard in question is marked out for a special destiny. An additional fact that I have unearthed during my long years of study is that the owners of elder wands almost always feel a powerful affinity with those chosen by rowan."**

**-Olivander**

**On Phoenix Cores:**

**"****This is the rarest core type. Phoenix feathers are capable of the greatest range of magic, though they may take longer than either unicorn or dragon cores to reveal this. They show the most initiative, sometimes acting of their own accord, a quality that many witches and wizards dislike. Phoenix feather wands are always the pickiest when it comes to potential owners, for the creature from which they are taken is one of the most independent and detached in the world. These wands are the hardest to tame and to personalize, and their allegiance is usually hard won."**

**-Olivander**

**Flexibility:**

**The willingness of the wand to switch owners.**

**My Reasons for choosing this particular wood and core combination for Becca has nothing to do with how rare the two are, but more the fact that to work her wand, Becca is going to have to be able to be true to all aspects of herself, which, as we learned last chapter, is hard for her. She will also need the phoenix feather's independent nature to match her own.**

**Neville's wand:**

**Length: 10 ¾ inches**

**Wood: Cedar**

**Core: Unicorn**

**Flexibility: Rigid**

**Cedar Wood:**

**"****Whenever I meet one who carries a cedar wand, I find strength of character and unusual loyalty. My father, Gervaise Ollivander, used always to say, 'you will never fool the cedar carrier,' and I agree: the cedar wand finds its perfect home where there is perspicacity and perception. I would go further than my father, however, in saying that I have never yet met the owner of a cedar wand whom I would care to cross, especially if harm is done to those of whom they are fond. The witch or wizard who is well-matched with cedar carries the potential to be a frightening adversary, which often comes as a shock to those who have thoughtlessly challenged them."**

**-Olivander**

**On Unicorn Hair:**

**"Unicorn hair generally produces the most consistent magic, and is least subject to fluctuations and blockages. Wands with unicorn cores are generally the most difficult to turn to the Dark Arts. They are the most faithful of all wands, and usually remain strongly attached to their first owner, irrespective of whether he or she was an accomplished witch or wizard. Minor disadvantages of unicorn hair are that they do not make the most powerful wands (although the wand wood may compensate) and that they are prone to melancholy if seriously mishandled, meaning that the hair may 'die' and need replacing."**

**-Olivander**

**I chose this combination for Neville because not only is he very perceptive (and not just because of his empathetic abilities), but he is also reliable and loyal, like his wood and core suggest. Quite frankly, this combination will attach itself to Neville rigidly, and guide him to continue being the amazing person he is and is becoming. The wand will guide him just as much as Becca's wand guides her. This is, quite frankly, a perfect match.**

**I am working on the idea that light magic can be just as seductive as dark magic if you delve into the arts, as the purest of magic (Patronus) and the darkest (Unforgivables) are both powered by emotion. Clearly there is a fine, fine line. We'll study that closely in later chapters!**

**Now, whoever can guess which house (or houses) Becca and Neville are going to gets Brownie Points! Tell me your favorites, and I will make the most popular one the first house someone is sorted into, and I'll have the hat consider that house for our dear characters. You won't influence the final placement, but you will influence the story!**

**Responding to reviews:**

**In response to SassyDoe and a few of their suggestions:**

**No! Don't worry all! Becca/Draco IS NOT IN THE WORKS! JK Rowling herself says he doesn't have a secret heart of gold, and plus, I think he's a bit of a dick.**

**Sorry people, this fic MIGHT have romance, but it will not be a slash fic as I just don't picture either Becca or Neville that way, although there may be gay characters. Maybe I'll write a slash fic later. **

**As always, thank you to Mythlover92, as well as the new additions of Crazyme, Aelin08, and Sassydoe!**

**HAPPY NEW YEAR ALL!**

**-PerfectionJune**


	5. Chapter 4: The Minister of Magic

**Disclaimer: Seriously. I? Owner of Harry Potter? I am attempting to get published in literary magazines. I seriously doubt I'm a professional.**

**AN: Sorry for taking so long. What with school and the fact I'm slightly ill *cough, cough* posting became hard. Also, I'm pretty lazy. Enjoy the new chapter, although we aren't sending our characters off to Hogwarts yet. ;)**

**Chapter 4: The Minister of Magic**

_The Position of the Minister of Magic has existed in its current form since the signing of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy in 1689 (although the Statue wasn't formalized until 1692). The role requires complete dedication, and a willingness to improve our society, as the Minister is, effectively, our leader. While there have been a few female ministers, for the most part, we have male, pureblood wizards to lead us. The Minister's correspondent (the Prime Minister of Muggles) has little if no impact on our world. Some claim that this helps bribes flow more easily, as it is illegal to accept bribes in the Muggle World._

_-The Political Prejudice (Banned in 1924 for "Inciting Rebellion")_

When we got home, I confess, I did let Crookshanks out of his cage. But the kitty was giving me these adorable begging eyes, and I was looking forward to seeing Peter's reaction.

15 Minutes later, and Crookshanks is purring contentedly on Peter's lap. Traitor. He took away my source of entertainment. I have to admit, though, that Peter getting along with my cat is kind of nice, as I'd rather not have to lock my kitty away every time Peter is around (80% of the time).

"Hey Becca?" Peter asks suddenly.

"Yes Peter?"  
"When are we visiting Lily? I know she'll want to hear about you going to school. She used to go on and on about what it would be like when you finally went."

"I'm sure she would love to hear about it Peter. Unfortunately, she won't."

Peter sigh. "Becca, I'm sure she hears you."

"Really? That's funny. I'm sure she doesn't."

"She loves you Becca. Hearing your voice may help bring her back." Peter says, trying to be supportive, but really just making everything worse.

"Yeah, well, as far as she's concerned, she still loves James, he still loves her. Not to mention, I'm 4 years old, my favorite color is green, and I'm going to be the Goddess of Spring when I grow up. I'm sure my voice is helping her come back" I reply sourly. I hate visiting Mum. I love her with all my heart, but I hate seeing her lie so still and cold, especially since I can remember her smile, the games we used to play, the songs we used to sing. Music was a huge part of Mum's life. Music and Life. She was a psychiatrist, but when she could, she would sing at open mic nights in the muggle world. I still remember going to a few. The air smelling of coffee. The good songs were few, the bad songs plentiful, and of course, Mum was the best. Her voice was light and sweet, her lyrics were wonderful and full of life and love, and she played the guitar beautifully. That's my earliest memory. Sitting in a café while she sang one of her songs.

_I knew a man once, who loved beyond belief._

_He thought the whole world needed a hug._

_He'd fight against the darkness, the loneliness, the hate, _

_He'd try so hard to spread the love._

_One day he hugged the wrong fellow,_

_Was found dead the next day._

_I wondered why those who loved,_

_Were the once that always paid…_

_That always paid… _**(AN: Made up in 5 minutes. I know it sucks, move on)**

I remember the people, the music, the atmosphere, the love. I was content. And when I remember my mother, I remember that feeling. And then I remember her screams.

I was in my room, I don't even remember doing what, when Mum yelled at me to stay upstairs and lock the door. So I did, and I activated the wards that were in place by locking the door. And though the wards could block out intruders, they couldn't 'lock out the screams. The pain filled screams that eventually stopped. Whenever I visit Mum, those nightmares wake me up. I fear seeing her.

Peter looks at me sadly, but doesn't press. He stopped pressing a while ago. But I know he's right. I'm going to go see Mum soon. As soon as I can.

The door opens and closes, and I hear the sound of someone stumbling through the door. It's nearly 11, I realize in shock. Peter and I have been sitting here a long time. And since it's so late, that means one thing. James is home. And he's drunk.

I send Peter out the door, because I need to take care of James. When he's like this, my father is hardly reliable, and Peter doesn't need to see how far his friend has fallen. I know that he knows, but I'd rather he didn't have to see it all the same.

I walk into the kitchen, where James it at the table crying. He's completely inebriated, and he's sitting there, sobbing over a picture of a woman with red hair and green eyes. My Mum. And any anger I may have felt at him vanishes when I see him crying. I walk up and softly put my hand on his shoulder.

"James," I say softly, and he looks up at me.

"Becca, go to bed." He says hoarsely. It's moments like these when I can't hate him. He looked so lost. So, I started singing another one of Mum's old songs. Another song I remember that sticks with me constantly.

_Love of mine, some day you will die_

_But I'll be close behind_

_I'll follow you into the dark_

_No blinding light or tunnels to gates of white_

_Just our hands clasped so tight_

_Waiting for the hint of a spark_

**_If Heaven and Hell decide_**

**_That they both are satisfied_**

**_Illuminate the "No"'s on their vacancy signs_**

**_If there's no one beside you_**

**_When your soul embarks_**

**_Then I'll follow you into the dark_**

_In Catholic school as vicious as Roman rule_

_I got my knuckles bruised by a lady in black_

_And I held my tongue as she told me,_

_"Son, fear is the heart of love."_

_So I never went back_

**_If Heaven and Hell decide_**

**_That they both are satisfied_**

**_Illuminate the "No"'s on their vacancy signs_**

**_If there's no one beside you_**

**_When your soul embarks_**

**_Then I'll follow you into the dark_**

_You and me have seen everything to see_

_From Bangkok to Calgary_

_And the soles of your shoes are all worn down_

_The time for sleep is now_

_It's nothing to cry about_

_'Cause we'll hold each other soon_

_In the blackest of rooms_

**_If Heaven and Hell decide_**

**_That they both are satisfied_**

**_Illuminate the "No's" on their vacancy signs_**

**_If there's no one beside you_**

**_When your soul embarks_**

**_Then I'll follow you into the dark_**

**_Then I'll follow you into the dark_****(AN: Death Cab for a Cutie)**

I stop singing, and James is still crying. I look at the man who is my father with pity in my heart. I get him a glass of water and make him drink every drop. I then grab his arm and lead him up the stairs, him stumbling drunkenly after me. I pull him into his room. His room which is done in emerald green and cream. I sit him on the bed and undo his shoes. I help him get dressed for bed, and then I tuck him in.

"What's wrong?" I ask James.

"Jordan Samuels is a Death Eater Spy. We caught him today." He slurs drunkenly. I understand. Jordan is the son of one of James's friends from the Order of the Phoenix. I sigh.

"Well, a good night's sleep will help." I say, deciding not to reprimand him for drinking till tomorrow when Grandfather's awake. He's very good at reprimanding his Son-in-Law. James nods, and I kiss him on the forehead, and sing until he falls asleep.

_Hush-a-by, don't you cry,_

_Go to sle-ep little baby._

_When you wake, you shall take,_

_All the pretty little horses._

_Blacks and Bays,_

_Dapples and Grays,_

_Coach and si-ix little horses._

_Hush-a-by, don't you cry,_

_Go to sle-ep little Ba-by._

It's the lullaby he used to sing to me. I then turn around and turn out the light. Before I leave, I whisper, "Goodnight Dad."

When he wakes up the next morning, he finds a glass of water and a hangover potion. I deny all association with their placement.

**AN: *Hides from anyone who's annoyed with the long wait.***

**Ok, so sorry for not updating for so long! This chapter was not a Hogwarts chapter, nor will the next Chapter be. Chapter 6/7 should be the Sorting chapter, but things are prone to change.**

**This Chapter I felt was really important, because it shows why Becca has a connection to music and the healing arts, even if she will often ignore those sides of her. She gets her talents from her mother, and while she loves music, she hates it with a fiery passion because in a twisted way, she blames herself for her mother's insanity. We also see how hard it is for James and develop her relationship with Peter a bit more. We also learn that Becca truly does care for James, even if she doesn't acknowledged it most of the time. I feel like the characters are writing themselves. This chapter was going to leave James as a completely incomprehensible Ass, but Becca insisted we all know that he isn't that bad. Hopefully the few of you who have message me saying James is to untreatable will be somewhat satisfied.**

**Next Chapter we are going to meet Lily! Let me know if you think Becca should bring out her musical side, and let me know if you hate the songs I wrote/picked in this chapter.**

**In response to reviews:**

**Mythlover92:**

**Thank you very much for commenting on the effort I put into the wands. It's nice for that to be recognized. On the subject of the dynamic duos abilities, yes, I am going to explain them in more detail, and as they grow and change physically and mentally, so will their abilities and understanding of their abilities. On the subject of Peter, while I do love Traitor!Peter, there are very few pro Peter fics, so no. He won't be a traitor. Will someone else? Wait and see!**

**SassyDoe:**

**Yes, the fact Hermione doesn't get Crookshanks is sad, but I'm sure 'Mione will find someone new.**

**Ceti H. Black:**

**Thank you! Let me know if you liked this update!**

**As always, more detailed responses will be sent to those who message me with questions. Thank you all for the support, and thanks to all my followers and reviewers. It's you guys who inspire me to write. I will attempt to update by Next weekend.**

**Send me any song suggestions you'd like to pop up, and tell me what houses you want Becca and Neville in! The Winning House will have someone sorted into their house first (I don't care where Hannah Abbot goes originally, I will create and OC for the contest). The winning house will also be a major contender in the convo with the Sorting Hat, even if I've already made up my mind. If you have any convincing argument about why they should go in any specific house, go ahead and try to sway me! Just R&amp;R!**

**-PerfectionJune**


	6. Chapter 5: Clinically Selfish

_**This Chapter Was IMPOSSIBLE TO WRITE. I hope you all enjoy my snowed in, lazy attempts.**_

**Chapter 5: Clinically Selfish **

_Saint Mungo's was founded by Healer Mungo Bonham in the 1600s (The exact date has been lost to time) for the purpose of giving witches and wizards a safe place to be healed. St. Mungo's is heavily fortified as it was once a safe house for magicals to hide in during the witch burnings. Now it is hidden behind an abandoned department store window. Please remember, that you must have a magical signature or be in contact with someone with a magical signature to enter the building._

_-St. Mungo's Pamphlet (Mass produced as of 1990)_

St. Mungo's is a place of nightmares, despite its appearance (and history) as a safe place. Behind closed doors, people are dying as you walk through the window, medicines are failing (causing disinfectants to be pushed through the air you breathe), and the clinically insane are just lying there forever. My mother is one of the clinically insane.

There is a theory that after a certain amount of torture, the brain shuts down certain pathways in an attempt to save itself. If the brain is not restored within 48 hours, supposedly the brain's functions start breaking down, until eventually the only thing you can do is breathe. This is why there were manuals written on exactly how long you need to torture someone. After all, it wouldn't do to torture them into a vegetative state and then not get any answers from them. Unless you are twisted enough just to torture because you can.

My Mum's brain isn't corroding (as far as our magical scans can tell) due to a stasis charm on the brain. This is supposed to keep the brain intact, but still open to treatment, like when you hit the pause button on a Teevee, you can still fast forward. I disagree. I think the charm keeps your brain frozen, meaning that no matter what I do, my mother can't hear a word I say. And that scares me.

I wake up to the sound of someone screaming. Oh. I'm screaming. I should probably stop.

It was the dream. I hear the screams of my mother, and then I find myself inside her head, watching her mind shut down and break. My vision is blurry from tears by the time I come to. I slowly become aware of soothing strokes on my back, and of my shoulders shaking.

"Shhh…Shhh…it's okay, darling. It's ok."

I find myself clinging to whoever this savior is, sobbing into their shoulder. I take a deep breath and smell tobacco and cinnamon. It's my grandfather. Weirdly enough, he doesn't smoke. He just believes it's always appropriate to have some tobacco to offer someone. Some weird muggle thing I guess.

I slowly lift my head up until I'm facing him. I see his extremely pale face still covered in freckles after all these years. His wrinkled hand is smoothing my hair down, and his hair is still turning gray, changing from its reddish brown to a color that doesn't suit him nearly so well. As I look at him I realize. He's only 53. Only 53, and he's already lost his daughter. I didn't just lose my mother that day. He lost his child. His only child that didn't resent her family.

It's times like these, at three in the morning, when you realize that others are hurting just like you. It's before you rub the sleep from your eyes, and you're still partially trapped in your dreamland that you have an epiphany. And even when it fades, you still have the nagging feeling of _understanding_.

"What was the dream?"

"It was The Dream." I reply, and grandfather nods in understanding.

"Yes, that's a bad one."

"Do you ever get your own version of the dream Grandfather?" I find myself asking curiously. I don't know why I say it, but I suddenly am overcome with the urge to know I'm not alone.

"Sometimes, Flower, sometimes. Sometimes I see what life was like before you mother was tortured and I can't stop screaming, knowing what it going to happen. But then I wake up and I realize I have you, and I feel better. So, perhaps, you need to think of that as well. You have Peter, Neville, myself, and-"

"And who?" I ask, suddenly scoffing. "James? I don't have him."

"He cares for you flower. He just can't show it well."

"Whatever," I mutter, suddenly angry.

"Well, you'd better get to sleep, it's rather late now." Grandfather says, standing up and making the bed shift. "We do need to head off to St. Mungo's tomorrow."

"Oh goody," I mutter sarcastically, "We can't miss that." Grandfather either doesn't hear me, or ignores me. I just pecks me on the forehead and walks out. Leaving me alone in the dark. Luckily, the scream have faded from my ears, even if the fear hasn't faded from my mind.

BHPBHPBHPBHPBHPBHPBHPBHP

The funny thing about fear is, you hardly acknowledge it until it's right in front of you. For me, this mostly happens right before I come into contact with my fear. St. Mungo's.

St. Mungo's is a place of nightmares, despite its appearance (and history) as a safe place. Behind closed doors, people are dying as you walk through the window, medicines are failing (causing disinfectants to be pushed through the air you breathe), and the clinically insane are just lying there forever. My mother is one of the clinically insane.

There is a theory that after a certain amount of torture, the brain shuts down certain pathways in an attempt to save itself. If the brain is not restored within 48 hours, supposedly the brain's functions start breaking down, until eventually the only thing you can do is breathe. This is why there were manuals written on exactly how long you need to torture someone. After all, it wouldn't do to torture them into a vegetative state and then not get any answers from them. Unless you are twisted enough just to torture because you can.

When we reach the front desk (Peter, Grandfather, and I) Michelle just smiles at us and waves us through. You're supposed to prove your identity every time you enter St. Mungo's, but by now Michelle knows me well enough she could spot an imposter from a mile away.

And then, as we are climbing the stairs to the Permanent Ward. Because some people never even get to leave in body bags.

As I open the door and walk in, I see several of the Healers and Medi-Witches who frequent the Permanent Ward. They've known me since I was five. They helped raise me as well.

"Becca, how are you doing?" I'm asked by Sarah, a friendly Healer who focuses on the long-term effects of brain damage. She's a specialist who often studies Mum.

"Fine, I guess. I got my wand." I reply. Sarah, on top of caring and studying Mum, tries to be a second Mum to me to help. Not that she's successful, but it's nice she tries. Sarah smiles widely.

"What is it?"

"Elder and Phoenix." Sarah's smile wavers slightly, but then she comes right back to happy mode. She's really good at faking.

"Congratulations!"

"Thanks" I say, and I wander over to Mum. "So, how is she?"

"Well," Sarah begins, "Her brain appears to be stable, although her health has dropped due to inactivity. We will have to cast some more spells on her to keep her stable, but she should be back to maximum health soon!" She finishes, grinning.

"Well, kind of." I reply. Sarah's grin fades.

"Right. Kind of. So, Shall I leave you alone?" I just nod, and Sarah walks away. That's when Grandfather and Peter some over, having stepped away to allow me to speak to Sarah. I smile at them gratefully.

Grandfather sits down slowly in the chair beside me. Peter flops dawn and then leans forward and says "Hello Lily! How are you feeling today?" Rather cheerfully. "I'm doing quite well, Peter Pettigrew is a rather successful name amongst the Media World. Excluding the Muggle World. James couldn't come today, too much work, but maybe next time, right?" and Peter just keeps talking and talking and talking, while Grandfather and I stare down at Mum. Eventually I stand up and leave, mumbling something about tea. In reality, I go outside and sit down in the hallway, my knees against my chest.

It may be mere minutes, it may be hours, but eventually Peter comes for me and sits next to me. I ignore his presence and keep staring at the floor.

"You know Becca, it doesn't make anyone feel better when you act like this." Silence. "It doesn't even make you feel better." More Silence. "She wouldn't want you to be this way." I continue staring at the floor until Peter emits a loud sigh. "When you're ready to stop feeling sorry for yourself, we'll all be there, ready to help. But if you keep pushing us away, eventually we're going to stop trying. Right now you have a Grandfather who is staring at what is effectively his daughter's corpse alone. I hope you are planning on changing that." Peter stand up and pauses right before leaving. "You're being quite selfish you know." I continue to ignore him. Peter shakes his head and walks away, heading off to work. I wait for him to get around a corner before I stand up and dust myself off. I walk into the room just as Grandfather's standing up. He looks at me expectantly, but I just walk closer to mum and whisper "Hi Mum." Before leaving. Because I can never say more than those to words to her.

St. Mungo's is a place of nightmares, despite its appearance (and history) as a safe place. Behind closed doors, people are dying as you walk through the window, medicines are failing (causing disinfectants to be pushed through the air you breathe), and the clinically insane are just lying there forever. My mother is one of the clinically insane. Sometimes, I think I might like to join her.

**AN: HELLO MY FANS! How are you all? God it's been…what? 3 weeks? I don't know. I suck at keeping deadlines don't I? Well, if I'm late, feel free to start sending in flames. That should get me moving.**

**So, some of you may think Becca's a tad irrational with her fear of Hospitals and her refusal to speak with her mother, but they are both just manifestations of her guilt. Her guilt for being unable to save her mother while she was in the same house as her mother while she was being tortured. It's not loneliness, emo-ness, or James's desertion that truly cripples Becca. It's the bone-crushing guilt she feels for her mother's insanity.**

**For the record, all of the typos are because I have NO BETA. If you would like to beta, please IM me, I would appreciate it! :D**

**Now, onto the House Poll…**

**Next Chapter is the Hogwarts Express, the Chapter after that Hogwarts. I have only received one vote from SassyDoe, who wants both Becca and Neville in Hufflepuff. Disagree? Agree? Let me know!**

**Thank you SassyDoe for Voting, I appreciate it, and I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. I can't wait for next chapter, because I've gotta get back to Hogwarts, and Becca's gotta get off to school. She also need to find a Home, because she's heard the word before, but it's never been much more that just a thing she's never had. Who gets the references? ;)**

**Stay Warm this freezing winter,**

**-PerfectionJune**


	7. Chapter 6: Blessings and Curses

Chapter 6: Blessings and Curses

_Although Originally Hogwarts was attended via portkey, broom, Floo, and (previous to being banned) magic carpet, it soon became inconvenient. Students trying to attend school just attracted too much attention from the muggles. In 1829, Ottaline Gambol rose to the office of Minister for Magic, and she made a daring and controversial suggestion to solve the age-old problem of how to transport hundreds of students to and from Hogwarts Castle every school year without attracting the Muggles' attention. Intrigued by the Muggle technology, the Minister saw the potential of using a train as a secure and comfortable alternative to previous methods The Ministry of Magic conducted a large-scale operation involving one hundred and sixty-seven Memory Charms, as well as the biggest Concealment Charm ever performed in Britain, in order to acquire the locomotive. The morning after this operation, the residents of Hogsmeade awoke to find the gleaming red Hogwarts Express and a railway station that had not been there previously, and the Muggle railway employees in Crewe had the feeling they had misplaced something, which stayed with them for the rest of the year._

_-Hogwarts A History (pottermore)_

It is, at times, a blessing and a curse that James is not often around. A curse-because, come on! He's my father-and a blessing because-

"Look! Over there!"

"What?"  
"It's the Minister of Magic!"

"Move over, let me get a shot!"

It is a blessing and a curse that James in never around. On the one hand, I'd like to have a father to spend time with. On the other hand-

"Who's the girl with 'im?"

"It's his daughter, idiot!"

"Quick we need a picture of her!"

It is a blessing and a curse the James is never around. I don't have to deal with him, but having to hug him awkwardly in front of the cameras? Not fun. Of course, when he releases me I hug grandfather and he kisses me on the head. I then smile at them both and leave. Peter couldn't make it as he had too much work to do.

I find myself walking through the train with the hood of my hoody up. I don't want to be recognized, but I am scared I will be. The daughter of the Minister of Magic is, sadly, a powerful political ally. Which is why I have one friend who I know will not betray me. Because many would.

I find a compartment close to the front. The compartment closest to where the prefect's meeting will be. Nobody sits here because it is easy to get in trouble. I sit here because nobody else will.

I reach into my bag and pull out a book. At first glance it appears to be boring, as it is a small paper back filled with annotations and highlighted and random intervals. If you look a little closer, though, you'll find it is the thrilling tale of _Much Ado About Nothing_. Which I suppose would still be boring to the average person.

I am just finishing re-reading the accusations of Claudio against Hero when the door opens. I look up and see Neville's face peering in. Behind him is another girl, and I feel a flash of irritation. Of course Neville would scoop up a stray.

Nev walks in and I say to him, in a rather deadpan voice, "I lock myself inside my room/I wannabe alone/With you around, you'll only add on/I wannabe alone/It's been disturbed by my thoughts/I wannabe alone/With you around, you'll only add on/I wannabe alone" **(Green Day, I want to be alone)**. Neville laughs at me, while the girl behind him looks confused.

"Oh please, Becca! You know you never want to be alone. You would die without me in you company."

"Yes, Nevvie-poo, I just can't live without you."

"Indeed!" He replies good-naturedly. Then he registers what I said, and a scowl appears. "And don't call be Nevvie-poo!" I snort, about to reply when I realize the bushy-haired girl behind Neville looks rather uncomfortable. I roll my eyes and just look at her for a moment. The girl fidgets, her brown eyes gaining an edge of nervousness. And then Neville breaks in.

"Hermione Granger, this is Becca. Don't worry about her, she just doesn't like new people. Here, come into the compartment of the trouble makers who don't wish to be caught."

Granger nods and walks in, and I can't help but sing under my breath.

"Pardon?" Granger says rather suddenly, prominent teeth suddenly becoming visible. I look at her for a moment before rolling my eyes, and singing the words slightly louder.

"Trouble always finds those never seeking it,

Avoids those who think themselves worthy of its wit.

Trouble always finds those with innocent souls,

But never seems to find those with the blackest of holes."

Granger gapes for a moment, and I just roll my eyes and return to Shakespeare. He is a genius, worthy of my time. Granger begins to ignore me after a while of me ignoring her, much to Neville's amusement, and begins talking to Nev. Based on the way she speaks, she is an intellectual. But she isn't all that smart. She repeats information found in books like they're the Bible, but makes no connections on her own at all. She seems like the type who need the answer quite literally shoved beneath their noses to figure anything out. Good for memorization, bad for real-world application. Finally, Granger seems to work up the courage to speak to me again.

"You know, you shouldn't treat books like that," her slightly nasally and bossy tone of voice says. "You can't get anything from books you destroy." I fight really hard not to roll my eyes. Instead I sit up straight and look Granger dead in the eyes.

"You never get anything from a book if you treat it like it's a fragile piece of art. Books are made up of the thoughts of the people who wrote them, meaning that books were written to be understood as nobody writes a book without wanting to prove something. The way I become closer friends with Shakespeare is by annotating and highlighting. It is not vandalism, it is proper use of my resources." Granger scowls. I smile, sit back, and go back to reading. Granger huffs.

"Well really! There is no need to be so rude!" I put down my book and look at her.

"Yes there is. You came in here, and began trying to prove _something_. Maybe it was that you're smart. All you have proven to me is that you treat books like the law and that you don't like people who don't agree with you." Granger's eyes start filling up with tears.

"This is because I'm a Muggleborn isn't it! Professor McGonagall said people wouldn't like me because of my parents, but I didn't think it would be like this!" She bursts into tears and starts crying on Neville's shoulder.

Neville and I both raised eyebrows at each other. He then relaxes his eyebrows and smirks at me, relaying quite clearly the message of 'All yours'. I scowl.

"I'm wearing muggle clothes, have referenced a muggle band, and didn't even know you were a Muggleborn for a fact. I am also a Half-Blood and my mother is a Muggleborn! So clearly that is not the case! I just can't stand you walking in here and acting like your better than me just because you've read a little Rousseau. Stealing the ideas of another man on human nature, and stealing Samantha Quirke's theory of magical application _does not_ make you look smarter!" By the time I finish I'm panting slightly, and I realize I let lose a bit of my anger. Unhealthy. I sit back down, roll my eyes, and affect an aura of disinterest.

Granger is still crying. Neville, the nicest guy _ever_ is starting to look uncomfortable.

"Look, Granger, you seem like a nice girl. But if you shove information down other people's throats and completely ignore the Wizarding World's culture, school will be hard for you. You can't forget that you are entering another world with another culture. Its own set of rules. Its own taboo subjects. Its own racism. You just need to learn about it."

The rest of the trip was spent in silence.

**AN: GAH! Sorry for the short chapter, but I have midterms coming up, my computer broke down, I keep getting pounding headaches, AND until recently I was grounded. So sorry. But here is a new (short) chapter. Sorry ****L****. Anyway, moving on, Hermione Granger is my 5****th**** favorite Harry Potter Character, and was my favorite until I was 10. So she holds a lot of meaning for me. Becca is critical, and so despite the fact that HERMIONE IS AWESOME you can't deny that she does act rather snooty, is a bit rude, and is constantly trying to prove her intelligence. She also has a chip on her shoulder because she is a muggleborn. Over all, Hermione is going to go through several character-defining changes, and even if she and Becca never really get along, they will at least be on civil terms with one another. Okay, to answer the question poised to me by tolazttologon, or Nutmeg:**

**After the death of his wife, he often came over to visit Lily, and interacted with Becca regularly. After seeing how withdrawn Becca became after Lily's death, he came around even more to help her recover. Eventually, he was around so often, he just moved in. So now he's part of the family. And thank you for your vote in favor of Hufflepuff and Slytherin.**

**The grand total of points now puts Neville and Becca at…**

**Neville:**

**_Hufflepuff_****2**

**_Ravenclaw_****0**

**_Slytherin _****0**

**_Gryffindor_****0**

**Becca:**

**_Hufflepuff_****1**

**_Ravenclaw_****0**

**_Slytherin_****1**

**_Gryffindor_****0**

**As always, thanks for the views and reviews! Keep cool and R&amp;R!**

**-PerfectionJune**


	8. Chapter 7: Family Matters

**Chapter 7: Family Matters**

_The House system was established not by the founders, but by their students. Originally simply apprentices to each of the four founders, the apprentices decided to continue the tradition after the Founders passed on to allow more students to learn from their founders. A few apprentices pledged their families into service to a house. To Ravenclaw, the Peverells, Corners, and Triniths (Extinct). To Hufflepuff, the Smiths (heirs), Abbotts, and Sansors. To the Gryffindors, the Weasleys, Contars, and Potters. And to Slytherin, the Gaunts (heirs, Extinct), Blacks, and Flints. These Families swore to give at least one child the houses every generation. Those who had one heir who was heir to both oaths was bound to one of two houses, but still was honour-bound to serve. While given the option, always, to retract the family's oath, the heirs never did, for honour is everything._

_-__** Purebloods, a History**_

Hogwarts is a rather amazing building. This being the only thought on my mind for the entire boat ride to shore truly proves how breath taking the place is. With the weathered stone literally glowing in the moonlight, the bright lights reflecting off of the water, making the entire place even brighter. Strong, beautiful, and _powerful_. Quite literally the most magically rich building in the UK, filling my ears with whisperings of power, and goodness, and home, and safety, and…so much more.

The most shocking thing, I must admit, is how _terrifying_ the place is. There is so much power, it's overwhelming. How anyone could go here and feel entirely safe is beyond me. There's raw power in the building, and the magic of all the students…oh. Neville.

I look over at Nev, trying to gauge how he's dealing with the emotional imbalance. So many people, all feeling different things are probably giving him a headache, if my own are anything to go by.

I'm right. His face is slightly pinched, and he's rather pale. I nudge him and he looks at me. His face gets slightly concerned when he sees me, so I guess I must look as awful as he does.

"How are you dealing with the people?" I whisper as we climb out of our boat.

"It's pretty bad. They're all so nervous that it's making me nervous. How are you? With the…you know." He replies. Nev is still a little unsure about how magical sensing works. I think he's unsure how it influences his ability to sense emotions.

"It's…odd." I reply.

"You're scared." Nev remarks, and I sigh. Curse empathy.

"I…Hogwarts is…old," I say, struggling to put words to the emotions I feel. "It has so much power, and the power is nurturing. But there's so much it's…terrifying." And, I can't say any more because I can't think of anything else to say.

"I don't know how I'm going to be able to _think_ in this castle" Nev mutters, "Much less go to class and learn Magic." I grin at him, and quickly grab his hand.

"Well, we'll struggle through this like we always do."

"Oh?"

"Together." And so we will.

BHPBHPBHPBHPBHP

Professor McGonagall was disturbing. At first, I rather liked her no-nonsense attitude, and the way she spoke to us like we were intelligent. But then, as she was talking to us, she met every student's eyes. And when she met mine, her eyes widened in surprise. And as she spoke, her eyes kept coming back to me. I don't like being stared at by strangers.

Still, she explained Hogwarts in a straightforward way that I'll admit I like. It's like History. The facts first, and then the chance to fill in the blanks, making up wonderful stories. History isn't blank facts, oh no. History is a STORY. There are different sides to everything, people remember events differently, people's names change and they go missing until they pop up dead. History is the most intricate tale out there.

Hogwarts has one of the richest stories out there, and I'm determined to piece it together.

BHPBHPBHPBHPBHP

The Great hall is gorgeous. I loved it the moment I saw it. The grimy hat was unappealing. And its singing voice was a tad scratchy. But it was still somehow appealing. The scratchy tone was almost Billy Joel, but less melodic. The words of the song were wonderful though. They were odd, and would make no sense in any situation other than the sorting ceremony, but that's the only place they needed to make sense. And so I will admit that when the first name was called, I was in a slightly wishy-washy mood.

Abbott, Hannah is short. She is blonde. She is the most awkward looking creature on the planet. And she is sorted into Hufflepuff.

Here's what I don't understand about the houses; how can we determine a person's true self at eleven. How can we determine their fate, decide what path in life they will take, when they don't even know themselves?

Most people never stop developing, growing, learning. Why should their personalities change? It is as if we feel that shoving someone into a little box at the age of eleven will somehow make it easier for them to fit into that box when they are older. I know for a fact that this isn't true. James is a coward. That's why he lives the way he does. He was also sorted into Gryffindor. So obviously the hat isn't the final authority on who a person will grow to be. The hat just guesses. And so, I will ignore the hat. I will go where I must, but I refuse to believe where I end up is where I belong.

When Neville is finally called up to the hat, we do our secret handshake, though I suppose it's not as secret no we've preformed it in front of the entire great hall. I give him a pat on the back, and send him up to the stool, which he walks up to looking extremely pale. He's also grinning. I think that the nerves of our fellow first years are affecting him, because the closer he gets to the hat (and the farther away from us) the more colourful he appears.

Sitting up there for nearly two minutes, Neville seems to spend most of it either mildly amused or slightly irritated. He changes emotions fairly quickly, but considering how long it takes, I don't blame him for being torn between amusement and irritation.

When the hat finally decides, he yells "HUFFLEPUFF!" and Nev is in the one house I'll never make. But I smile and laugh, and give him a quick hug as I send Nev to his new house. Because he'll be happy there, and that's all that matters.

Standing around in line for _hours_ (Maybe a slight exaggeration) is BORING. Trust me when I say that listening as all the students around me are sorted is like staring at a blank wall. You make note of all the details (names, houses, where the plaster's cracked) and are still bored out of your mind. So when "Potter, Rebecca" is called, it takes me a split second to realize that McGonagall means _me_. I shake myself slightly, grin, at the thumbs up Nev is flashing me, and head up to the hat. _Carefully_ (So as not to damage the _century-old_ hat) I pick it up and place it on my head. The last thing I see before the hat covers my eyes completely is the stares of all the remotely politically savvy students in the hall.

The Hat is…strange, to say the least. When you wear the hat, you feel as if everything you have ever known about yourself is pushed to the forefront of your mind, and everything you are unsure of is carefully analysed. It is almost like your very being is under a _videns sub_, or a spell that allows you to see underneath the skin. When I finally have the feeling of vertigo leave me as all my memories stop being riffled through, the hat speaks.

**_You know, I am a centuries-old artefact. You treating me with as much care as you did, doesn't negate the rough treatment I've received from millions of students. Although I do appreciate the care._**

_Hello._ I reply unsurely, _you know, you could have simply said that to start off the conversation. Put student's more at ease. For someone who goes through other's heads, you have horrible social skills._

**_I have a constant presence, but my personality shifts from student to student. Of course my social skills are horrible. I'm on your head._**

My eyebrows rise. _Pretty good insult __for a hat__._

**_As amusing as this conversation has been, I believe we should move on to the matter of your sorting._**

_Really? That's funny. I feel as if we need to continue speaking. If only so you can answer my questions of how it is possible to decide an 11-year-old's future in one minute._

**_What on earth are you talking about?_**

_You sort us into four separate houses based on our most relevant traits when we're __eleven__, but really, who is fully developed at eleven? You tell us we're either loyal and kind (which most stupid children equate to uselessness), smart and bookish (which most people equate with being an obnoxious know-it-all), brave and chivalrous (which most people seem to equate with being stupidly reckless), or cunning and ambitious (which most people equate with evil). You are basically shoving us into little boxes at a very young age. And we will never truly develop into our own people, we will only develop into who we think we should be. And on top of that, ONE MINUTE?!_

**_Well… I have no control over the sorting process. You forget, I'm a hat. Besides, I try to express the fact that these aren't solid laws, but merely guidelines. I can't control the folly of humans._**

_I suppose that is true._

**_Also, time works differently in here._**

_What do you mean?_

**_I mean, in here, we've been talking for about two minutes. Out there, we've been talking for 30 seconds._**

_That's impossible._

**_No, it's Magic._**

_Fine. Fine. But still, that only means that for every two minute sorting, you are spending approximately four minutes deciding some poor child's future! How is that any better?_

**_It's not. But if I take too long, others get impatient._**

_Fine! I concede the point. But you're going to contemplate my sorting for a long period of time!_

**_Granted. Though for the record, I spent about 30 seconds getting a full scan of who you are, because I am magic. I completely understand the inner workings of your mind. Making decisions isn't hard when that happens._**

_Well then what are hat stalls?_

**_People who ask too many questions._**

_Really?_

**_No. They generally are people who have yet to truly understand who there are even slightly. They're people who don't have very strong senses of self. Of course, there are exceptions. Like your Professor McGonagall. She was a hat stall. And she has always had a strong sense of self. However, her strong sense of self was a cross between two-_**The hat sighs**_ fine, boxes- and we debated about which one she belonged in. Now, don't get smug!_**

_But I was right!_

**_Impertinent youngsters. Anyway, you belong in Slytherin._**

_No, I don't._

**_You are sly, quick, cunning, and very good at wearing masks. You can argue politics fairly well, and while your cleverness could be attributed to Ravenclaw, your other traits most definitely make you a Slytherin._**

_Well, I can't be a Slytherin._

**_Look, I know you are rather good at lying to yourself, but no one can deny. You are a perfect fit for Slytherin._**

_Look, I know, but I can't be in Slytherin._

**_Why not? If it's about your father, well, isn't this a way to get back at him?_**

_No! You don't get it! It's a family matter! The Potters swore an oath to Gryffindor, the Peverells to Ravenclaw. I need to go into one of those houses. The Slytherin Line which married into the Peverells died out, which means I am the sole heir to the Peverells and the Potters. I have to be a Ravenclaw or a Gryffindor, because family matters!_

**_Well…Ravenclaw is the better fit._**

_Put me there then!_

**_But you have so much bravery…_**

_I'm a coward._

**_Someday, you will find it within yourself to face your fears head on. Cowardice is not having fears, cowardice is never facing them. Still…you are not quite there yet. RAVENCLAW it is. Although, you are wrong. Your loyalty to your family indicates I could have put you in Hufflepuff. In another world, I might have._**

_Thank you._

And as I slipped the hat off my head, the longest sorting of my generation, I felt relief. Because the table of Blue and Bronze beckoned, and Nev was at Hufflepuff, grinning at me like everything in the world was perfect.

BHPBHPBHPBHPBHP

**AN: Hello everyone! Sorry for the distressingly long summer wait. I am utterly incompetent at working with deadlines! I found it impossible to write Becca's conversation with the sorting hat. I re-wrote it 5 times, and at one point, Nev's sorting was in this chapter. I ultimately cut that due to my solid belief that Nev and Becca would share their stories. Anyway, Hufflepuff won overall, so Hannah Abbott was still the first student sorted. I was slightly worried I'd disappoint a lot of people when I put Becca in Ravenclaw, but ultimately, the house of blue and bronze pulled through and won Becca's contest. So random comment: I SUCK at remembering I'm supposed to be doing UK spelling, and while word check catches me, I occasionally ignore that by accident. So sorry for inconsistencies! Thank you all for being patient and thank you all for your reviews. It means a lot to me! Have a good rest of the summer. I will try (key word: try) to post again next week. Until then, just R&amp;R!**

**-PerfectionJune**


	9. HELP

**So, I'm really sorry to do this, but part of why there are no more chapters is I need this question answered. I've been contemplating switching to the third person for various reasons, and would like my reader's opinions. Please let me know what you think, and don't worry, this chapter will be deleted and replaced ASAP.**

**-PerfectionJune**

**P.S. These irritate the hell out of me too. So does the Author apologizing. But I'm doing it anyway. Sorry.**


End file.
